


L'amour dans un Restaurant

by Lucif



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Blood, F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-24
Updated: 2015-12-24
Packaged: 2018-05-08 22:30:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5515628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lucif/pseuds/Lucif
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will Graham searches for a new career but instead finds Hannibal Lecter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. L'Apéritif

####  **“They say, timing is everything. But then they say, there is never a perfect time for anything.”**

#### ― Anthony Liccione

 

“I’m sorry that I have to do this, Will, but it has been brought to my attention that,” the man standing across from Will pauses to let out a sigh, running a hand over his face before he continues, “your mental stability is not adequate enough for me to have confidence in your ability to perform your duties.” The man’s hand falls from his face and he fixes Will with a pitying gaze. However, the gaze is as pitying as it is certain. Will knew he would be wasting his breath by trying to argue with the man.

Will Graham, before this moment, was an information technology worker and web designer for a small law firm. He had been working there for around seven months when he made the mistake of accepting an invitation to dinner from his coworker,Freddie Lounds. The evening had had a decent enough start, but Will’s reserved personality and aversion to Freddie’s prodding and personal questions had left her with the impression Will was either a sociopath or a person suffering from a personality disorder. She must have taken these concerns to her’s and Will’s boss, or at least this was the only logical scenario Will could imagine in which his mental health was a subject.

“Do you understand why I’m letting you go?” The man’s question snapped Will from his thoughts. He stood across from where Will was seated at his desk, hands on his hips and eyebrows raised sternly.

Will forced a smile, nodding as a small chuckle escaped him. “I understand.” Of course Will understood. It wasn’t the first time he had faced contempt from another person on account of his mental health. Will could have experienced the situation a hundred times over and it would still sting to know people would rather be rid of him than attempt to understand him.

“I’m sorry it had to happen like this, Will. I hope you can get the help you need.”

Will nodded again, forcing the smile to return to his face as he stood. He could feel anger boiling beneath the surface of his skin, but he willed himself to turn around, to leave the cramped room. As he entered the main law office he felt eyes on him. He peered around, meeting Freddie’s anxious gaze. He offered her a smile before he turned and headed towards the door.

The feeling of his stomach sinking lower and lower in his gut ate away at Will as he made his way to his car, and continued to do so after he got into the car and drove away. He drove without putting any thought into his destination. It wasn’t long before he found himself parked outside of a hole-in-the-wall diner, a place that wasn’t particularly out of the ordinary for Will to find himself at. In fact, the small diner was one of the few places he frequented.

The atmosphere of the diner had never failed to be comfortable or welcoming. The servers didn’t pry and the customers weren’t rude. Will found this place to be something of a safe haven, and so he went inside and sat at a small table against the wall. A young server dropped a cup of coffee at his table with a smile, but she gave him his space.

The server stopped by to replenish Will’s coffee a couple of times before he was startled from his thoughts by a large man in a peacoat.

“Will, how are you?” The man sat in the other chair, turning to talk to the server over his shoulder. “Molly, I’ll have a cup of coffee and a chicken melt.” The man turned back to Will and his grin faded. “What’s wrong?”

“Jack Crawford.” Will leaned back in his chair, fingers wrapping around his cup of coffee as a small, genuine smile played at his lips.

Jack Crawford was also a patron of the small eatery. He and Will had frequently seen each other in the diner over the past few years, but it wasn’t until several months earlier that they actually became acquainted. It was gradual and non-invasive, and in turn Will and Jack became friends. They never scheduled their meetings at the diner, but often enough found themselves in each other’s company. On this day, Will could admit he was pleased to see Jack. Jack was good company, watchful and understanding.

“I was _let go_ ,” Will admitted, dropping his gaze and running a hand through his hair sheepishly.

“Really?” Jack inquired, his eyebrows raising.

“Really,” Will chuckled, exasperation evident on his face as he turned his gaze upward. “Mentally unstable,” he added through grit teeth, each syllable falling from his lips with distaste. He shook his head, closing his eyes to calm himself.

Jack remained silent and receptive as Will worked up the nerve to explain what had occurred. He only turned his attention away to briefly thank the server when she placed a cup of coffee before him. He immediately turned his attention back to Will.

“You know, I’ve seen therapists before. Been diagnosed on the autistic spectrum a handful of times, hell I’ve even been told I might have a personality disorder. I never knew it was enough of a problem to interfere with _web design_.” Will’s words were venomous, but beneath the venom and hostility he was wounded. He dared to look at Jack, and in doing so he found some of his hostility melting away. Concern was evident in Jack’s eyes, in the corners of his mouth and in the wrinkles in his forehead. “It’s bullshit.”

Jack let out a sigh, nodding in agreement. “A load of bullshit. I’m sorry Will. How long have you been there?”

“Around seven months. It wasn’t much, but it _was_ a job.” Will looked down at his hands. He pulled his cup of coffee closer, watching the dark liquid slosh around from the movement. He could see his reflection, broken into fragments by the ripples on the surface. He becomes aware of a change in Jack’s demeanor and looks up again.

“I don’t know if this will interest you, but I have a friend- Hannibal Lecter, I believe I’ve told you about him before- well, he’s hiring at his restaurant. I could put in a good word for you, see if he wants to interview you.” There was a curious uncertainty on Jack’s face, somewhere between hoping Will would accept the offer and hoping it wouldn’t offend him.

“Yes, Hannibal Lecter. The chef. Jack, I’m a terrible cook.” Will was puzzled. He was certain he and Jack had talked about the disasters he had tried to pass off as meals.

“Oh, I know. It’s not a job as a chef. Hannibal mentioned he was looking for another food runner, and maybe someone to help out with washing dishes.” Jack gestured weakly with his hands as he spoke. He hadn’t forgotten about Will’s cooking stories.

Will purses his lips, wariness evident in his expression. He had worked as a dishwasher at a small restaurant when he was in high school, but never as a food runner or anything where he was required to interact with the customers. It was no secret that Will was lacking in his social skills.

“There’s no harm in trying, Will,” Jack asserts. He is nearly cut short as his sandwich is placed before him. He thanks the server again, attention remaining on her as she lingers.

“Anything for you today, Will?” She fixes Will with a soft gaze, a small notepad and pen in hand as she waits for an answer.

“I’ll take a chicken sandwich,” Will says softly. He feels somewhat cornered by the attention of both Jack and the server.

“Alright, I’ll put that in right away.” The server beams at Will once more before turning and walking off toward the kitchen.

Will turns his attention back to Jack, thinking about what the man had said before they were interrupted. _There’s no harm in trying_. He finds Jack staring at him expectantly. Will can’t help but smile weakly, shaking his head. “I suppose you’re right. There’s no harm in an interview.”

“Attaboy,” Jack laughs, in turn directing his attention to the food on the table before him. He can feel Will relax in the seat opposite him and in turn feels comfortable letting the subject fade away while they eat.

It isn’t long before the server is back at the table, Will’s food in hand. She sets the plate before him with another warm smile, hand lingering on the table a moment longer before she turns and walks away. Jack raises an eyebrow as he puts a french fry in his mouth.

“I think our girl Molly has a thing for you, Graham.” Jack offers up a sly grin as he eats another french fry. He expects Will to blush or squirm, but Will does neither.

“She’s not really my type,” Will states before picking up his sandwich and taking a bite. He doesn’t even humor Jack by meeting his gaze, and so the pair of men finish their meals in quiet harmony.

After they finish, Will excuses himself to the restroom. When he returns he finds Jack at the cash register chatting with Molly. Will narrows his eyes warily as he approaches, placing himself next to Jack at the small counter.

“I’ll have my bill, thank you,” he says softly.

“Jack already took care of it,” Molly replies with a grin.

Will looks at Jack, mouth set in a frown. Jack gives Molly a wink before grabbing Will by the shoulder and leading him out of the diner. Will is about to object to the contact when Jack drops his hand.

“I could have paid for my meal, Jack,” Will states firmly.

“I know you _could_ have, Will, but you just lost your job. Just take it as a friendly offering. You don’t owe me anything,” Jack reaches into his pocket and pulls out a slip of paper, “other than a promise that you’ll give Hannibal a try. Here’s the address of the restaurant. Just stop in sometime this week, alright?”

Will wants to groan or roll his eyes, but he knows Jack only wants to help. He grabs the slip of paper and shoves it in his pocket, turning away and walking toward his car. “Will do, Jack.” Will turns back toward Jack when he reaches his car and gives a sarcastic salute to the man, earning a grin from him in response. He is shaking his head as he turns away from Will to head to his own car, and Will can’t keep a small smile from creeping over his own face at the sight. Jack really was his friend.

Fishing his keys from his pocket, Will unlocks his car and lowers himself into his seat. He pulls the door shut tightly behind him as his smile fades He rests his hands weakly on the steering wheel before starting the vehicle. A struggle wages away behind his eyes, part of him willing to give the interview with Hannibal Lecter a try, and the other part of him too averse to meeting new people and falling into new routines. Though, either way Will leaned would require him to meet new people and fall into new routines.

With a sigh Will pulls the folded slip of paper from his pocket. He unfolds it and reads the address, re-reads it, and worries the fold in the paper with his thumb. He sits in ambivalent silence for a few minutes before he drops the slip of paper on the passenger seat and starts his car.

Will drives home in silence, caught up in his own thoughts. As he pulls into his driveway he realizes he has already decided on the interview, taken it into his heart as a challenge he needs to overcome.

After turning off his car, Will reaches for the slip of paper with the address. He reads and re-reads it again before letting out a resigned sigh. Jack was right, there wasn’t any harm in trying, even if it felt like there might be. Will entered the address into his phone and saved it, and with that it was decided: Will was going to interview for the job.

####    
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a secret santa gift for DiamondSuits. Hope you enjoy it :-)


	2. L'Entrée

####  " ** _One doesn't discover new lands without consenting to lose sight, for a very long time, of the shore_**." 

####  ― André Gide

 

The sun peaked in the sky, causing Will to flip the visor in his car down. The sun was too bright, too hopeful as it shone into his eyes. He couldn’t bring himself to stomach it as he drove, hands gripping the wheel tight enough to squeeze the color from his knuckles.

 

It was only an interview, a fact Will attempted to remind himself of. When he had first scheduled the interview he hadn’t experienced a trace of anxiety, but as time brought him closer to the day of his interview, he could feel the muscles in his stomach churning and the synapses in his brain firing. He hadn’t anticipated becoming such a nervous wreck, but here he was. 

 

Deep breathing. Timed breathing. Attempts at breathing exercises gave Will a brief sense of calm as he pulled his car into a parking space.  Breathe in. Hold. Breathe out. Repeat. 

 

Will lingered in his vehicle. His interview was at noon. He glanced at the clock on his radio. 11:37. He closed his eyes, breathing some more. He willed his trembling hands to be still, his pulse to slow. He opened his eyes again and turned his attention outward. He cou see the restaurant from where he has parked. It served as a distraction.

 

The building was nice, a fact Will had anticipated from the start. From what Jack had told him, Hannibal Lecter would not stand for anything other than  _ nice _ . Maybe nice was an understatement, Will mused. There were more windows on the building than he expected, but they were tastefully placed. The outside walls were composed of different types of stone and brickwork; one wall consisted of large stone slabs and the other of small bricks arranged in a manner that reminded Will of cobblestone. Rose bushes and shrubs were planted snugly against the building. The building was indeed  _ nice _ .

 

Will looked back at the clock. 11:46. Should he go inside? Would Hannibal expect him to be early or punctual? Panic started to rise up in his throat but he fought it back and swallowed it, burying it in the depths of his stomach. A few shallow breaths and Will was out of his car, shoving the keys in his coat pocket and smoothing his shirt. 

 

The rosebushes were fragrant, but Will knew they would be the moment he saw them. The scent drew him in as he approached the massive, windowed doors of the restaurant. He caught his reflection as he reached for the handle and faltered. 

 

He looked out of place. The white shirt and dress pants didn’t really suit him, and it was glaringly obvious. The shirt was slightly wrinkled and a tad big for him, and the pants were a touch short, which only brought attention to his scuffed shoes. He had to close his eyes and draw in a deep breath before he could force himself forward. He reopened his eyes as he finally grasped the handle of the door, pulling it open. 

 

A second set of doors waited for Will, but this set was easier for him to pass. Upon entering, he found himself in a small, but not too small, entryway. A brunette woman stood behind a desk and looked up as Will stepped forward. She had soft features but a stern gaze, and Will felt his throat tighten up and swallow his vocal cords. Even so, he parted his lips in an attempt to speak but found himself grappling for words.

 

“You must be Will Graham,” the woman said, a warm smile spreading over her lips. She made her way around the desk, heels clacking on the floor as she did so. “I’m Alana Bloom. I’m the manager. I’ll be conducting the interview.” She offered Will a hand as her warm smile remained.

 

Will faltered before he reached for her hand, grasping it weakly and giving it a feeble shake. He wasn’t the most keen on physical contact, but he didn’t want to give himself away. His distant personality had cost him his last job and he’d be damned if it would cost him another. “Nice to meet you, Ms. Bloom.” Will was surprised by his voices sudden complaince. 

 

“The pleasure is mine. Jack Crawford has mentioned you on numerous occasions.” 

 

Alana’s face remained warm, and Will felt more at ease. She was poised, but no longer threatening. He felt some of the tension leave his shoulders and cleared his throat softly, reminding himself to speak. “Jack told you about me?” He could feel his eyebrows raise slightly at the question.

 

“Yes, plenty of times. You’ve proven to be rather elusive.” 

 

Will felt the urge to squirm under Alana’s gaze as a blush crept into his ears. It was true. Jack had often invited him to social gatherings, such as holiday events and dinner parties. Will couldn’t stomach the thought of being around so many new people, let alone being  _ introduced _ to them. He couldn’t think of anything to say to Alana, so he gave her a nervous grin.

 

A twinkle of amusement crept into Alana’s gaze for a moment, but it left just as quickly as it came. She swept some hair out of her face with a thin finger, tucking it neatly behind her ear. “Well,” she started, clasping her hands together. “No sense in delaying, let’s get started. I can take your coat, if you would like.” 

 

Will took a moment to contemplate leaving his coat on or removing it and decided on the latter. He undid the buttons with surprisingly steady hands and shrugged out of the article of clothing, handing it to Alana with a sheepish smile and a mumbled “thank you”.

 

“Of course. Now if you’ll give me a moment,” Alana responded, taking the coat gently in her hands and crossing the entrance to a doorway at the other end of the desk. She disappeared from view for a few seconds and the clatter of wooden coat hangers sounded from the room. She stepped back into view in the next moment and approached Will, pausing before him momentarily. “Please, follow me.”

 

Will nodded quickly before Alana turned, the clack of her high heels loud in the empty restaurant. Will took in the tables and chairs, neatly set and arranged with almost mathematical precision throughout the dining room. He couldn’t help but wonder how busy the place would become during business hours. He chewed at the inside of his lip nervously as he realized it might have been better for him to have dined at the restaurant once or twice before seeking a job there. His brow wrinkled as he continued to follow behind Alana. 

 

Bracing himself to finally meet the notorious Hannibal Lecter, Will did his best to appear confident. Alana led him to a room separate from the rest of the main dining area, but not entirely apart from it. Will straightened his shoulders and squared his jaw, looking about the room for Mr. Lecter. 

 

The room was luxurious, but not in an outrageous manner. An impressive mahogany dining table sat in the center of the room with enough chairs placed around it to seat ten people comfortably. Patterned velvet curtains hung from the windows and were reflected on the pristine surface of the table. Will turned his head, not only taking in the room but also searching for his potential employer. 

 

“This is our private dining room. The table and chairs are made of solid mahogany, and they are a prized possession of Hannibal’s.” Alana turned to face Will, her body nearly silhouetted by the extravagance of the room and the sunlight shining in from the windows behind her. Her eyes followed Will as he peered about the room and a small laugh shook her shoulders. “Not to worry, though. For the position you’ve applied for, you don’t need to worry about spending too much time in here, if any. Hannibal prefers to personally serve guests who have reserved this room.”

 

Slowly, Will turned to completely face Alana. A nervous grin spread over his lips as he peered again at the mirror-like surface of the table behind her. “ _ Definitely _ fine with me. Being around such expensive furniture would turn me into the human embodiment of inelegance.” A dry, nervous laugh matched the grin on Will’s face as he shoved his hands into his pockets.  

 

“Amusing, isn’t it,” Alana commented, “the number of ways anxiety can transform us into something we are not.” Her gaze had not hardened, but instead grew softer as she watched Will nervously stand before her. “I’m sure you are sufficiently elegant, Mr. Graham,” Alana added in an attempt to soothe the man’s nerves. “Would you like anything to drink before we get started?” She asked, taking a step toward Will. 

 

An inaudible chuckle shook Will’s throat briefly after Alana’s attempt at soothing him. He wasn’t elegant, though he wasn’t particularly inelegant either. He refrained from stating this fact, and in turn answered her question. “I’m fine, thanks.”

 

A quick nod jostled Alana’s brunette curls before she turned, walking to the opposite side of the table. She pulled out a small device and set it on the table before her, taking a seat in one of the chairs afterward. “Please, have a seat,” she invited, motioning to the chair across from her. 

 

Stepping forward, Will felt a dry realization wash over him. Hannibal wouldn’t be conducting Will’s interview. A feeling akin to disappointment surged inside his chest for a few moments, but the feeling retreated to the depths of Will’s mind as anxiety once again overcame his person. He softly touched the frame of the chair before gently pulling  it out to seat himself.

 

“I hope you don’t mind me recording the interview. Hannibal is a very busy man, but he is very particular. I ask the questions, but the decision is his.” Alana motions to the small device she had set on the table moments before.

 

“By all means. Record away, Ms. Bloom.” Will would have gestured to the device himself but found his hands glued to his thighs in fear of leaving so much as a fingerprint on the table’s crystalline surface. 

 

The same delicate finger that had tucked hair away earlier was now pressing a button on the recorder. A soft beep sounded, and then Alana folded her hands in front of her and took a breath. “Alright, Mr. Graham. You were referred to Hannibal by Jack Crawford. How do you know Jack?”

 

There was no helping the mild amount of surprise Will’s face portrayed at this being the first question asked. “How do I know Jack?” He parroted, his eyebrows raised slightly. He parted his lips and his eyelids fluttered in thought. “We both frequent the same diner. He, uh, he introduced himself after seeing me there so often, and we became acquainted. It… it really isn’t a very interesting story.” Will found himself chuckling nervously, his hand fisting around the fabric of his pants. “I don’t mean to be dismissive. I feel as though Jack could explain our friendship better than myself.”

 

“Jack talks about you frequently, as I mentioned before. How do you suppose he describes you?” Alana tilted her head ever so slightly as she asked the question.

 

Eye contact was no longer an action Will found himself capable of upholding. His eyes turned downward, meeting Alana’s reflection in the table. He couldn’t help the uncomfortable smile that spread over his lips. Jack was his friend, but Jack was also an extremely honest person. “Jack… Jack would say that I am an intriguing man, but I’m reserved. He would tell you he thinks I’m a ‘good kid’, but he wouldn't fail to mention my ineptitude when it comes to socialization.” Will found himself unwilling to continue imagining the ways Jack would describe him. He glanced up at Alana, expecting a frown but instead finding a warm grin. A soft chuckle even came from her smiling mouth. A puzzled expression overcame Will’s face, setting his mouth into a straight line and wrinkling his eyebrows.

 

“Jack’s description of you was very accurate,” Alana commented, still smiling. “‘Charming in a peculiar way’,” she continued, giving Will snippets of what Jack must have said to her. “Don’t look so worried, Mr. Graham. Jack speaks highly of you, and from what I can tell he seems to know you well.”

 

Charming? Will wasn’t surprised Jack found him charming, but he was surprised by Alana’s assent on the statement. Will would have laughed if he wasn’t so nervous. Hell, he would have laughed either way, nerves be damned, but he couldn’t seem to make any sound at all. He tried to make himself appear more at ease to humor Alana, clearing his throat quietly in the process. “I apologize,” he added. 

 

“No need to apologize,” Alana reassured. “Now, tell me why you’re interested in the foodservice industry.” 

 

Will shifted in his seat, mind cluttered with thoughts. “I worked as a dishwasher when I was in high school. I, uh, I guess I just feel like trying it out again. Not dishwashing specifically, but a job in a restaurant.” 

 

“Did you enjoy working in a restaurant? What other jobs have you had?” 

 

“I suppose it was enjoyable. I didn’t hate it, at least. I was a kid.” Will let a breath escape through his nose, the corner of his mouth turning up into a thoughtful half-smile. He wasn’t a fan of nostalgia, and so he pushed the subject further, bringing his attention to his more recent exploits. “I worked as a custodian for a school during the summertime. When I was in college, I worked in the library. I didn’t pursue a degree at the time-” Will looked at Alana again, searching for judgement of his confession. Her expression remained warm and alert. “After I left school, I worked as a sort of receptionist for a small fishing and hunting magazine. After that I worked for a dog rescue program, and after that I did some information technology. and web design work for a law firm. A small law firm, nothing big. I’ve done a lot, really.” Will couldn’t help but feel like a child explaining the events of his school day. 

 

“Indeed you have,” Alana commented, her grin growing. “Have you had much experience working in a fast paced and demanding environment?”

 

Will shifted again in his seat. He couldn’t shake the feeling he was being tested, and he felt like he was failing. “No. Working with dogs was noisy and some might say demanding, but… no, not really.” 

 

“Do you feel capable of working in a fast paced and demanding environment?”

 

“Capable, yes. I can’t promise I’ll be the most comfortable, though.” Will’s grip on his pants tightened. He mentally scolded himself for being so forthcoming about his comforts and discomforts. 

 

“I enjoy the honesty, Mr. Graham.”

 

“Of course.” Will stared at Alana’s reflection.

 

“Now, as you’re aware, we are seeking someone for expedition. More often than not you will simply be bringing food from the kitchen to the guests. However, there may be call for you to help bus tables, wash dishes, and even garnish meals. Are you comfortable with these duties?”

 

“Of course,” Will repeated, looking up and making eye contact. He had told himself to focus on eye contact, but it was proving increasingly difficult to do. He felt out of place, but at the same time he felt welcomed by the woman seated opposite of him. 

 

“I figured as much,” Alana responded, shifting her weight slightly before changing the topic. “Paper applications lack personality. We called your references, but Hannibal wanted to hear a little bit more about who you are as a person. I hope you don’t find this too invasive.”

 

The muscles in Will’s back tensed. He had felt as though Alana was being careful with him, but now he was certain she was taking steps to do so. Which meant she was aware of his aversion to conversation, especially  _ intimate _ conversation, either from her own observation or from Jack’s revelations. He forced a smile. “Not at all,” he assured her. He wanted to be perceived as complaint but he could detect his own faltering.

 

“You mention you used to work with dogs,” Alana encouraged.

 

“Yes. I have a few dogs.” Will pressed his lips together tightly, forcing a weak smile. “I enjoy fishing, too. I make my own flies. I… I read. Just about anything, really. I repair outboard motors, sometimes,” Will could feel his throat tightening up, his brain unwilling to explain his life to Alana- or to Hannibal, by way of the recorder sitting on the table. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m supposed to say.” Will maintained nervous eye contact for a few moments before breaking it yet again.

 

“You’ve said plenty, Mr. Graham.” Alana’s smile remained warm, but there was now an understanding sympathy to her expression. She straightened her back before standing. “There’s nothing more we need to discuss,” she said, looking down at the recorder on the table. 

 

Will looked up at Alana, and then at the recorder and finally back to Alana. “Really? That seemed… short.” Will could feel his stomach sinking. He could read Alana, but he didn’t possess the resources to know what decision Hannibal himself would make. 

 

“There wasn’t much Hannibal wanted to know,” Alana stated, a soft shrug barely moving her petite shoulders. 

 

It was evident Alana found Will adequate for the job, but the stress of an unknown third party was keeping Will on edge. He finally moved to push his chair back and stand up as Alana walked around the table. Will smoothed his shirt before turning to meet Alana. 

 

“Let me walk you out, Mr. Graham. I’ll get you your coat.” Alana turned slightly, ascertaining Will would follow her before she left the room. 

 

After his coat was retrieved, Will slipped it on and pulled it tightly about himself. He had remained silent since leaving the private dining room, and remained himself less than eager to speak. 

 

“I’ll give Hannibal the recording later today. You should expect to hear back within the week.” Alana offered her hand to Will. “It really was a pleasure to finally meet you.”

 

“Thank you,” Will mumbled, about to shove his hands inside of his coat pockets when he noticed Alana’s outstretched arm. He gave her the second handshake of the day, not quite as weak as earlier but nowhere near firm. Afterward, he let his hand return to his side, and then to his pocket. 

 

“Have a good evening,” Alana stated, turning from Will to walk toward the desk. 

 

Will nodded, mostly to himself, as he too turned to walk toward the exit. He stopped for a moment, turning back slightly to look at Alana. “It was nice to meet you, too, Ms. Bloom. You are as poised and lovely as Jack said you would be.” With this statement, Will turned away. He could feel his ears and cheeks warm with blood as he left the restaurant and wondered to himself why he had felt compelled to say that. 

 

Fishing his car keys from his pocket, Will briefly looked back at the restaurant. The disappointment from earlier surfaced to the front of his thoughts as the faint scent of roses followed him to his car. He had no concept of Hannibal Lecter but he already felt a though he knew so much. He craved a face for the personality that presented itself in Jack’s stories and the aura of the restaurant. 

 

Attempting to put his thoughts on hold, Will focused instead on driving. As focused as he managed to be, he still found himself arriving at a destination he hadn’t planned beforehand. He pulled his car to park in a small lot overshadowed by trees.

 

The glint of water lured Will from his car. He walked down a path toward a river, eyes scanning the surface of the water and taking in the way the waves danced. He continued along the path until he found himself in the shade of an oak tree. A bench was placed just off the path, a few strides in front of the oak tree. Will sat down on the bench with a sigh and resolved to let himself wonder once again about Hannibal Lecter. 

 

Would a person such as Hannibal Lecter actually hire Will? The uncertainty of it all made Will increasingly apprehensive. He leaned back against the bench and closed his eyes, willing the soft static of the river to overpower the cacophony of his mind. 

  
  
  
  
  
  



	3. Le Plat Principal

**“The free soul is rare, but you know it when you see it – basically because you feel good, very good, when you are near or with them.”**   
**― Charles Bukowski**

 

After returning home from the riverside, Will spent the entirety of his evening in a stupor. The mood wrapped itself tightly inside his throat and shook him from his dreams at frequent intervals. By early morning, his night sweats had left their usual sheen on his skin and robbed him of any hope of rest.

 

A cold shower woke his body but did little for his mind. It wasn’t until late evening that he was pulled from his trance. The loud ring of his cell phone startled him where he was seated amongst his dogs. He gave the phone a confused look before answering with a terse “Hello?”

 

“May I speak with Will Graham?”

 

Will faltered, feeling as though he recognized the voice on the line. “This is him.”

 

“Mr. Graham, hello! Alana Bloom calling. I know it’s sooner than I told you to expect a call, but Hannibal must have listened to your interview as soon as he had the time. He says the job is yours.”

 

Shock flooded Will’s veins. He was certain he had made a fool of himself and lost any chance of getting the job during the interview, but here he sat with a job offer and his voice too weak to accept it.

 

“Mr. Graham?”

 

“Yes, I’m here- sorry. Um… no, that’s great. Great.” Will’s speech came crashing back to him but he fumbled to strain a coherent sentence together. “When would I be starting?” he added before giving Alana the chance to reply to his train-wreck of a sentence.

 

“As soon as you’re ready.” Alana’s smile was audible.

 

“Oh. Okay, how about… well, how about tomorrow?”

 

“Tomorrow would be fantastic.” There was a hint of amusement in Alana’s voice before she proceeded to give Will instructions on what time he should arrive.

 

And so Will Graham found himself back at the restaurant, this time clad in more applicable attire. He had gone out and purchased a decent fitting shirt and pants of appropriate length, both the deep black Alana had advised him to wear.

 

The nerves of the new and unknown kept Will restless, but he suppressed them as he entered the building. He was greeted not only by Alana, but by two other women as well. A slim woman with sharp brows and red lips was leaning against the desk, head tilted toward Alana, while a shorter woman with black hair mirrored the stance from the other end of the desk.

 

Alana was the first of the three to look up. “Mr. Graham, good evening.” She beamed at him before introducing him, “This is Mr. Graham.” The statement accompanied a gesture toward Will’s person.

 

“Will. Please, call me Will.” Will objected quietly, before mustering up a small grin for the two strangers. “Hello.” He lifted his hand to wave weakly before letting it fall back to his side.

 

“Of course. Will, this is Margot Verger,” Alana motioned to the woman with lipstick, “and this is Beverly Katz.” A second motion to the other woman followed. “Margot is a server, and Beverly will be training you tonight.”

 

“Will,” Beverly greeted, a wolfish smile on her face. “Nice to meet you.” She eyed him but did not move to shake his hand, an act Will was entirely grateful for.

 

“Ms. Katz,” Will nodded in her direction before turning his eyes on Margot. “Ms. Verger. Nice to meet you.”

 

“Pleasure,” Margot stated, though her expression had turned analytical.

 

“Beverly,” Alana said, clapping her hands together. “Please, show Will the ropes. And don’t scare him off.”

 

“I’m not the one he needs to be afraid of,” Beverly commented, pushing herself away from the counter. “Follow me,” she added, addressing Will alone.

 

Will nodded, noting the hint of a smirk as it spread over Beverly’s lips and the mischievous manner in which her eyebrows arched. As Beverly turned and walked deeper into the restaurant, Will followed. He glanced one last time at the two other women before giving Beverly his entire attention.

 

Beverly explained the layout of the dining area, the way the tables were numbered, where the coat room and restrooms were, and where to find extra silverware and napkins. She continued to rattle off little facts and tips as they entered the kitchen. Will took in the vast amount of stainless steel and noted that the kitchen was currently empty when he realized Beverly had stopped talking. She turned to face him, grinning.

 

“First thing, Alana and Margot are married, but they like to make people work to figure it out. I’ll save you the trouble and the heartbreak-” Beverly’s tone was largely joking, “Second thing, if you do your job and stay out of the chefs’ way you’ll do fine.” The joking tone disappeared, and Beverly raised an eyebrow at Will, questioning his understanding of her advice.

 

“I think I can manage,” Will chuckled, though nerves tightened around his stomach.

 

“Good. Now,” Beverly paused as conversation reached her ears. A pair of men came into the kitchen from a different door, one rattling off instructions in French to the other. The duo seemed unaware of Beverly and Will’s presence. “Now, I introduce you.” Beverly moved forward, grabbing Will by the shoulder and leading him along with her. “Boys,” she chimed as they drew closer to the men.

 

The conversation staggered between the pair of men and Will couldn’t keep a sheepish expression from spreading over his face for interrupting them.

 

“This is Will,” Beverly remarked, patting Will’s shoulder firmly. She turned to look at him before continuing. “Will, meet Guillaume, our sous chef, and Hannibal Lecter, our culinary maestro who is also your employer.”

 

The first of the two men to be introduced gave Will a wave and a French greeting before turning away to busy himself in the kitchen, but the second of the two men remained with his attention on Beverly and Will. He had a strong brow and sunken eyes that cut Will to his core and made the hair on his neck stand on end.

 

Beverly squeezed Will’s arm and then urged him to move forward with a soft push. He did so with heavy feet, speaking in an attempt to bridge the closing gap. “Mr. Lecter,” Will swallowed against a lump forming in his throat, “Nice to finally meet you. Jack speaks very highly of you.” Will stopped an arm’s length away from the older man, feeling like an insect under a microscope.

 

“As he does of you, Will Graham. The pleasure is entirely mine.” Hannibal gave Will a small smile, a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes ever so slightly. His voice was heavy with an accent, but it was also articulate. His eyes lingered on Will a few moments longer before his attention was pulled away by Guillaume speaking in French. “Un moment s'il vous plaît,” Hannibal responded, turning his dark gaze back toward Will once again. “We will have to speak another time, Will.” With this sentence, Hannibal turned and walked away.

 

The experience of meeting Hannibal Lecter left Will in in a state of awe and intrigue, simultaneously. He remained still for a few moments before he was aware of Beverly coming into his vision. She had the same microscopic smirk on her face that she had before, and her eyebrows were raised.

 

“He’s an interesting one, isn’t he?” She beamed, turning her body slightly to look at Hannibal.

 

Will could merely raise his own eyebrows in response.

 

“C’mon, I’ll show you the works.” Beverly motioned for Will to follow her, and for the next number of hours he did so obediently.

 

The rest of the evening is spent learning as much as Will can from Beverly, weather it is how to deal with a particularly rude customer or tips on carrying a heavy tray. Beverly laughed when Will practiced carrying trays and wobbled around awkwardly, and she becomes somber when it came to more important lessons. Even so, Will found Beverly amicable and intelligent.

 

Numerous trips in and out of the kitchen through the evening gave Will glimpses of Hannibal in his element, a sight akin to a painter working on his masterpiece. Will found himself lingering and passing the doorway to the kitchen more often than necessary. He couldn't place the magnetism he felt rooted in his chest, but he could feel it pull tightly at his sternum.

 

“So that’s the way you swing,” Beverly commented toward the end of the evening.

 

Will was caught off guard, unaware that Beverly had been watching him. He turned to her as his ears warmed with blood, an objection on the tip of his tongue. But he faltered, stumbling over the words in his mind before he finally settled. “I’ve never seen a chef work. Not outside of a television.”

 

A knowing expression was painted over Beverly’s face, but she left the subject alone.

 

The final guests slowly trickled out, and Will found himself lingering in the kitchen. Hannibal was nowhere to be seen, and Alana stopped to check in after the doors were locked.

 

“I hope you had a decent shift, Will.” Alana smiled her soft smile and touched Will’s shoulder softly. “You can be finished for the night. There is only so much knowledge you can retain in a single day. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

“Of course,” Will responded. He took a final look around the kitchen. Guillaume was humming around the corner and out of sight, but there was still no Hannibal. Turning back to Alana, Will mustered up a smile. He kept the smile in place as he passed Margot, Beverly, and a couple of other staff members.

 

As Will ventured to his car, he wondered about the enigma that was Hannibal Lecter. During the drive home and even into the evening, when Will was wrapped in his sheets and vaguely worrying about night sweats, the forefront of his mind was occupied by Hannibal Lecter.

 

Will dreams, and in his dreams he hears an eloquent accent accompanied by soft, orchestral symphonies.


	4. Le Fromage

 

#### “ **And I urge you to please notice when you are happy, and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, 'If this isn't nice, I don't know what is**.”

#### ― Kurt Vonnegut

 

Several months had passed and Will was managing his life well. He felt confident in his ability to mask his mental instability and illness. He might even go as far as saying he was in control of his plethora of mental eccentricities. He still wasn’t apt to be sociable, but he could fein social aptitude for the few minutes he interacted with each guest. On occasion he could go as far as exchanging pleasantries, even.

 

Beverly and Will had become friends. They weren’t exceptionally close and Will denied all her requests to meet outside of work, but they could laugh together and enjoy themselves while working. Alana had remained as pleasant toward Will as she ever was. Margot had warmed up to him slightly, but they kept a comfortable distance. Guillaume had taught Will _some_ French, but Will could never keep up when Guillaume and Hannibal had discussions.

 

Will’s relationship with Hannibal, however, had remained entirely professional. Almost disappointingly so, in Will’s opinion,. There were no jokes or warm smiles. The pair would make polite conversation if they were given the opportunity. However, Hannibal had complimented Will by way of Jack when Jack had come to dine with his wife.

 

“I told you he was a good kid, Hannibal.” Jack clapped Will on the back, startling him.

 

“You did. And he is.” Hannibal gave Jack more attention than anyof the other guests that evening.

Will had passed by on occasion over the course of that evening, observing Hannibal and Jack’s interactions. He nearly tripped over himself when he saw Hannibal grin in response to something Jack had said. Will kept his distance for the remainder of that evening to avoid a repeat incident, but Hannibal’s smile replayed over and over in his mind.

 

These were the highlights of the interaction Will had with Hannibal since he started working for him. He was intrigued by Hannibal from a distance, unable to climb over the emotional walls he had built to protect himself. Instead he built the walls higher, wary of Hannibal’s exceedingly observant eye and the knowing glimmer in them when Will let his facade slip.

 

But the seven months had been decent, and Will didn’t plan on leaving any time in the near future. He could almost say he was content with his life. He was managing composure on a busy night, a feat he was particularly proud of. And then Alana stopped by the kitchen, brows wrinkled ever so slightly.

 

“Will, I’m sorry. Beverly has the flu, it’s just you tonight.” Alana’s expression truly was apologetic. “Do you think you can manage?”

 

Will was about to speak when he was startled by a voice behind him. A heavy, accented voice. “Manage what?”

 

The hairs on Will’s neck stood on end as Hannibal stepped into his space. He wanted to step away, but found himself glued to the spot. Hannibal stood with his eyebrows raised inquisitively, and Alana parroted the news to him. Will remained silent, stricken by Hannibal’s proximity.

 

“Of course Will can manage. That is why I hired him.” Hannibal placed a large hand on Will’s shoulder. The touch lingered for a moment longer before Hannibal turned and strode away.

 

Alana raised an eyebrow at Will, encouraging him to vocalize. It took him a moment, but he spoke. “I can manage.” With that said, he set out to do the work normally done by both him and Beverly and tried to brush off the warmth from where Hannibal had touched him.

 

The evening started well. Stress crept into Will’s bones but he beat it down into the marrow. He utilized the tips Beverly had given him over the past months, hearing her voice in his head as he arranged a tray with several platters of food.

 

As the night rode on, Will felt himself wearing down. He could feel sweat along his spine and hairline and his arms were growing tired from carrying trays, gathering dishes, clearing and resetting tables. He could feel panic eating at the lining of his stomach and did his best to fight it back with gulps of cold water. The stress crept back out from his marrow.

 

When there was a lull, Will excused himself to the restroom. It was growing late and the room was empty, much to Will’s delight. He stoppered a sink and filled it with cold water, bracing himself over the porcelain bowl. His limbs trembled slightly from the effort of remaining calm; his chest heaved as he took deep breaths.

 

Slow breaths, Will urged himself. He leaned lower over the sink. He could see a faint reflection of himself in the water that had collected in the bowl. He tried to slow his breathing, counting off numbers in his head. As the acidic taste of panic rose against his tongue, Will plunged his face into the cold water. The calm he felt was instant, even if it didn’t settle him completely. He lifted his head slowly and splashed water on his face, gasping.

 

This ritual would be enough to tide Will over. He wiped his face with his hands, letting the sink drain. He could feel his heart calming inside his chest, even when the door to the restroom opened and fell shut.

 

The person entering stopped short. “Is everything alright, Will?”

 

Will turned his head to see a mildly concerned Hannibal standing by the door. He suddenly felt like a child caught partaking in a shameful act. “I’m fine,” he stated. He turned his head away and moved to grab a towel to dry his face. He could feel his ears and cheeks grow warm. “Just needed to cool down.” He could hear Hannibal move, approaching him.

 

“Understandable. Be thankful you aren’t a chef.” Hannibal’s presence behind Will was tangible.

 

Turning back around, Will glanced at Hannibal. The glance became prolonged when he noted an amused smile on Hannibal’s lips. He could only muster a nervous grin in response, a single, dry laugh leaving his throat. “I’m a horrible cook,” he stated before facing his reflection.

 

“I doubt that.”

Will met Hannibal’s gaze in the mirror and felt a fresh warmth spread over his cheeks. “Oh, it’s the truth.” Will surveyed himself once more before stepping back from the sink, putting distance between himself and Hannibal. “I’d better get back.” He gestured weakly toward the door before turning and quickly exiting the restroom.

 

Even as tense knots formed in the muscles in his back, Will remained composed for the remainder of the evening,. Once the doors were locked, he assisted Margot in cleaning the dining room. The dishes were brought to the kitchen, the tables wiped and set with silverware for the next day, and the floors were swept and vacuumed. Margot thanked Will for his help before she left, and Will ventured back toward the kitchen, convincing himself he merely wanted a drink of water before going home.

 

A mountain of dishes greeted Will, taking the entire ofl his attention the second he entered the kitchen. Guillaume stood amidst the dishes, cursing loudly in French. “Where’s the dish washer?” Will asked, peering around the kitchen. Hannibal was busy cleaning the stoves, but he looked up at Will.

 

“I sent him home. He was not feeling well.” Hannibal’s sleeves were rolled back, the muscles in his arms working as he scraped the stove top with a bench knife.

 

Will turned his attention back to Guillaume and the piles of dishes. He watched as the man grumbled under his breath. “Let me do them,” Will said, invading the space by the sink and ushering Guillaume away.

 

“Merci,” Guillaume huffed, pulling his wet hands from the sink and giving Will a relieved grin.

 

Will worked on rolling his sleeves and nodded at the Frenchmen, who hurried to assist Hannibal in cleaning the rest of the kitchen. The amount of dishes left Will slightly overwhelmed, but he was thankful he wasn’t required to socialize with the dishes. He had socialized with enough people that night to tide over his social needs for a month or two.

 

By the time Will had finished with the dishes, there was a calm about the kitchen. Classical music trickled in from the radio in the office as Will dried his hands. He momentarily thought he had been left completely alone, but the metallic sound of knives being sharpened alerted him of someone else’s presence.

 

Curious, Will stepped out from behind the dish racks. He was met with the sight of a relaxed Hannibal, knife in hand and leaning against a prep table. As Will came into Hannibal’s peripheral vision, he looked up from the knife in his hand.

 

“Guillaume was grateful for your help this evening.” Hannibal’s gaze remained on Will as he moved the knife in his hand through the sharpener.

 

“I’m assuming he left without me noticing.” Will felt sheepish as he stood under Hannibal’s gaze.

 

“He did.” Hannibal smiled, gaze dropping to inspect the knife he had sharpened.

 

“Are we the only ones here?” Will asked, glancing toward the door nearest to him.

 

“I believe Alana is in front.” Hannibal set the knife on the table with precision before turning his gaze back on Will with an unnerving intensity. “Everyone else has left.”

 

Will wanted to squirm under the man’s gaze but felt as if his bones were suddenly made of stone. He swallowed, smiling weakly but still unable to move. His gaze took in Hannibal, wandering over his body and down his arms before focusing on the collection of newly sharpened knives at Hannibal’s hands.

 

“Tell me, Will. Do you have any interest in cooking?”

 

Will looked up, meeting Hannibal’s gaze. It had lost some of its intensity, which was replaced by curiosity. Will opened his mouth to speak but wasn’t sure of what to say, taken aback by the question. “I’m horrible at it,” he settled on saying.

 

“As you’ve said. And I still don’t believe you.” A hint of a laugh caused Hannibal’s chest to quiver. “If you are _inexperienced_ , it would be a pleasure to teach you. Would this interest you?” Hannibal shifted his stance, leaning further in Will’s direction.

 

“Right now?” Will blurted out, shocked by the sudden offer.

 

“If you would like,” Hannibal affirmed, an amused smile spreading over his lips.

 

“It’s late,” Will said, a half hearted objection.

 

“Not too,” Hannibal responded.

A nervous chuckle escaped Will as he ran a hand through his hair, tousling the curls slightly. “Alright, sure. But I’m a _horrible_ cook.” Will finally met Hannibal’s gaze, an unforced smile spreading over his own face.

  


********************************************************************************************

  


Over the course of a few weeks, Will would stay late and cook simple dishes with Hannibal. Hannibal would always leave classical music playing in his office, loud enough to be heard in the kitchen but not too loud as to overwhelm either of them. Will would ask questions about the dishes they were making, but eventually his questions moved past the topic of food. He asked about the music, which Hannibal explained was composed by Mikalojus Konstantinas Čiurlionis. Will attempted to repeat the name and failed at doing so, much to Hannibal’s amusement. Hannibal repeated the name and explained that the composer was Lithuanian, but Will didn’t attempt to say the name a second time.

 

The questions continued to bounce back and forth like a tennis ball between the two men. Hannibal told Will about his childhood in Lithuania, Will told Hannibal about his dogs. Hannibal told Will about his time living in Florence, Will told Hannibal about his favorite path by the river. Will would go as far as saying the questions acquainted them, perhaps even made them friends. He was also confident enough to say his cooking had improved, even if it wasn’t a substantial improvement.

 

On a particularly late night, Will found himself and Hannibal almost entirely alone. Beverly, Guillaume, and other staff members had often been present for their prior cooking ventures, but tonight only Alana remained in the restaurant, and she was nowhere near the kitchen.

 

Hannibal busied himself setting out ingredients as Will filled a pot with water. “What are you making tonight?” he asked as Hannibal passed him with a handful of mushrooms.

 

“ _We_ are preparing mushroom florentine,” Hannibal answered, fixing Will with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

 

Will smiled and turned to face the pot of water, which he had set on the stove. He resigned himself to cooking the pasta as Hannibal gathered the rest of the ingredients, but once the man had done so he pulled Will from the stove and toward the prep table.

 

“Slice the mushrooms. Steady hands,” Hannibal advised Will before taking the man’s place at the stove, overseeing the pasta as it cooked.

 

Will picked up a knife and set to work on cutting the mushrooms into even slices. He steadied his hands and cut straight, but he worked slowly to improve the outcome. He paused when he felt Hannibal at his shoulder, turning his head toward the man.

 

“Cut them thinner,” Hannibal advised, eyes cast downward, watching as Will followed his instructions. “Good,” Hannibal commented, lips turning up into a pleased smile before he moved to stand next to Will. Hannibal grabbed a knife and a clove of garlic and set to work dicing it with deft hands. The sound of the knife hitting the table punctuated the air in a measured rhythm.

 

Will attempted to focus on his own task, but found himself distracted by how proficient Hannibal was with a knife. This distraction was enough to present a problem, and suddenly Will was jerking his hand back and cursing.

 

The sound of the chopping knife stopped, Hannibal tensing beside Will. His gaze shot to Will’s face, and then down to his hand.

 

Will had dropped his knife on the table and was now holding his hand to his chest, blood welling from a slice along his fingers. He was about to grab the injury with his good hand when Hannibal grabbed both of his arms by the wrists. Will looked up with wide eyes, embarrassed by his own clumsiness.

 

With gentle movements, Hannibal pulled Will’s injured hand closer to inspect the damage. Hannibal made a soft noise with raised eyebrows before releasing Will’s hands. “Tsk.”

 

“I’m sorry-”

“Wait here.” Hannibal looked at Will briefly before leaving the kitchen.

 

A drop of blood fell to the floor as Will waited, cradling one hand with the other. He stepped back from where the blood fell, and a second drop followed. He wrapped his fingers around the injury, preventing any more blood from falling. He looked up again when Hannibal returned with a small box in hand.

 

“To the sink,” Hannibal commanded, motioning for Will to follow him. Will did so obediently, watching his step and making sure no more blood dropped as he walked. He nearly ran into Hannibal because he was so focused on preventing any more of a mess.

 

A firm grasp reached out and grabbed Will’s hands, pulling them apart. The box, a first-aid kit, had been set beside the sink. Hannibal pulled Will in closer and turned on the faucet. He looked from the injury to Will’s face, expression unreadable. “This may hurt.”

 

Will nodded, and then his hand was plunged under the water. He winced slightly at the sting in his hand, but he had experienced much worse. He found himself more distracted by the way Hannibal’s brow was wrinkled in the middle and the firm frown on his lips. “I’m sorry,” Will repeated softly. He felt as though the quiet music had drowned out his apology, but he didn’t repeat himself.

 

“No need. Accidents happen, Good Will.” Hannibal’s gaze flicked to Will’s face for a moment before turning back to inspect the injury.

 

The words ‘Good Will’ coming from Hannibal’s mouth caused Will’s heart to pound heavily in his chest. He felt his knees weaken and his skin prickle with warmth as a foreign feeling flooded his veins. He feared Hannibal would notice the change in his demeanor, but the man seemed too preoccupied with Will’s injured hand to notice anything else.

 

“You shouldn’t need stitches,” Hannibal commented, drying the injured hand with a towel. Blood bubbled up from the wound once the towel was removed, and so Hannibal placed the towel back over it, applying pressure. “Hold this,” Hannibal advised, looking at Will.

 

Will nodded, placing his uninjured hand where Hannibal’s had been. The man walked away, and Will moved to follow him but stopped when he was told to stay by the sink. He complied, one hand applying pressure to the other as he watched Hannibal stoop down to wipe up the few drops of blood on the floor. A shameful feeling crept over Will and he turned his attention to his bleeding hand rather than watching Hannibal clean the mess he had made.

 

A crescendo built up in the song that was playing, and Hannibal approached Will again. He pulled gauze from the first-aid kit and grabbed Will’s hand, discarding the towel after ascertaining the bleeding had lessened. He wrapped the gauze tightly around the fingers as drums crashed and flutes whined in the air, all sounds Will could barely hear over the sound of his own blood pumping.

 

“Good as new,” Hannibal commented after securing the gauze. He looked at Will with a smile.

 

“Thank you.” Will could feel blood warm his ears and pool beneath his cheeks.

 

“Does it feel alright?” Hannibal asked, his gaze remaining on Will.

 

A weak nod was as much of a response as Will could manage before he stepped to the side. “Restroom,” he mumbled, glancing in Hannibal’s direction before hurrying off.

 

A shuddering gasp forced itself from Will’s mouth after he reached the restroom. He moved to rub his hands over his face and winced as the injured hand made contact with his skin. “Shit,” he breathed, pacing over to the sink and glaring at his reflection. “Shit, shit, shit.”

 

Will turned the water on and leaned down, splashing his face as well as he could manage with one hand. The cold water brought him back to his senses and he stood, wiping his face with his sleeve. He lingered in the restroom a minute longer before returning to the kitchen, a timorous expression at play on his face as he entered the room.

 

“There you are. I have taken the liberty of finishing the preparation of our dinner, seeing that you are injured.” A good-natured smile warmed Hannibal’s face as he motioned around with a pasta fork in hand.

 

An appetizing aroma filled the kitchen and put Will somewhat at ease. He crossed the room, joining Hannibal at the table where two plates were set. “It looks delicious,” he commented, eyeing the pasta. Hannibal nodded, humming as he garnished the dishes.

 

The pair dined in quiet camaraderie. Will forced himself to remain silent when the urge to continuously apologize arose, and Hannibal cleaned up the kitchen. The night had officially drawn to a close once the classical music was turned off.

 

Hannibal accompanied Will as they exited the building, but stopped him in the parking lot by placing a firm hand on slighter man’s shoulder. “Let me drive you home.”

 

“No, I-”

 

“It was not a question.” Hannibal raised his eyebrows in challenge. “You are injured.” He added, as if Will was unaware of Hannibal’s reasoning .

 

“How will I get to work tomorrow?” Will demanded, not ready to accept Hannibal’s offer.

 

“I will inform Ms. Katz that you require a ride.”

 

Will shook his head weakly, but he knew there was no arguing with Hannibal. A dry laugh left him as his head shaking turned into nodding. “Fine, alright.” He shadowed Hannibal to his car, a black Bentley Arnage, and eyed the space where his own car was parked. Alana’s car was no longer in the lot, giving Will a sense of solitude. When Will turned his back to Hannibal’s car, he stopped short. Hannibal stood with the passenger door open, waiting for Will. “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me, Hannibal,” Will groaned.

 

Hannibal simply smiled in response, closing the door once Will was situated inside the vehicle.

 

The drive to Will’s house was relatively quiet, aside from Will giving Hannibal directions every now and then. Only when they finally pulled to a stop in front of Will’s house did Will realize he wanted the ride to be longer. He sat awkwardly for a moment, unsure of what to say.

 

“Thank you.” Will stared out the windshield for a moment before he moved to open the door.

 

“Will-”

 

“Let me,” Will objected, uninjured hand tightly grabbing the door handle before pushing the door open. He exited the car and stopped, turning back to look at Hannibal.

 

“Good night.”

 

“Good night, Good Will.”

 

Will inhaled sharply before closing the car door and hurrying into his house. As he greeted his barking dogs, he reflected on the expression Hannibal had when he wished Will good night. In the end, Will convinced himself his eyes were playing tricks on him in the dark. Even so, he could have sworn Hannibal knew exactly what he was doing when he called Will that name, called him ‘Good Will’.

 

And what was he doing? Will fell back into an armchair as he let his mind wander, hearing Hannibal’s words over and over again in his head. There was a hopeful voice elsewhere in Will’s mind, assuring him Hannibal knew what he was doing. Admiring him, seducing him.

 

Exhaustion overcame Will all at once, and he shut his eyes. He could picture Hannibal’s persistent stare in his mind’s eye, in awe of the way one man’s gaze could make him feel incalculably treasured.

  
  
  



	5. Le Dessert

####  **“Glass & peace alike betray proof of fragility under repeated blows.”**

####  **― David Mitchell**

 

Will did his best to limit any interaction with Hannibal during the days following his injury, but felt as though his doing so was extremely obvious to the other man. As disdained as Will was by avoiding the man, he couldn’t fight his desire to withdraw. Hannibal had stepped over the walls Will had spent years building, leaving Will scrambling for a place to hide himself. 

 

Granted shame was all Will had to hide behind, he indeed managed to do so. He avoided Hannibal’s gaze, avoided spending too long in the kitchen, and avoided staying too long after the restaurant closed. The sudden absence of Hannibal in Will’s life was painful, but he convinced himself it was all for the best. However, there was no way for him to mourn the absence when it was self-inflicted. He still saw Hannibal daily, and even though Will avoided the man’s gaze he could still feel it follow him around the room. 

 

Hannibal possessed an air of understanding, and it was almost frustrating to Will. The older man did not pry or push, he simply went about his business as if the pair had never become closely acquainted with each other. But as patient a man as Hannibal was, he could only satiate himself for so long before acting.

 

“How is your hand, Good Will?”

 

Will froze. He had stepped into the kitchen in search of Beverly, but was greeted by Hannibal and Hannibal alone. He clenched his fingers unconsciously, testing the injury as it was brought to his attention. “It’s good.” Will could hear the rigidness of his voice, could feel his stomach knotting up.

 

Hannibal tilted his head a fraction of an inch before crossing the kitchen toward Will. “May I?” he requested, reaching out a hand toward Will’s own, eyebrows raising slightly as he did so.

 

There was no way Will could bring himself to refuse Hannibal, not with how patient the man had been and continued to be. Nodding stiffly, Will lifted his own hand toward Hannibal’s outstretched one. Small bandages covered the injury, not deterring Hannibal from thoroughly inspecting it. His grasp on Will’s hand gentle. 

 

“Looks good.” A pleased smile pulled at the corners of Hannibal's mouth as his gaze rose to meet Will’s own.

 

Will fought the urge to thank Hannibal. It wasn’t as if he was responsible for healing Will’s hand, even though he had helped with the injury initially. The urge to apologize also arose, and Will took a breath, readying himself to speak.

 

“Oh! Am I interrupting something?” A voice bubbled up behind the pair of men.

  
  


Blood rushed to Will’s face as he pulled his hand from Hannibal’s grasp, turning his head to face the person who had entered the kitchen. He was met with dark, mischievous eyes. Will stepped back from Hannibal, clearing his throat weakly.

 

The teasing expression on Beverly’s face was enough to fluster Will, but Hannibal remained poised. “I was merely observing Will’s injury.” Hannibal’s expression was unreadable, but it was obvious he was flustered by Beverly’s joke.

 

“Injury?” Beverly raised a brow, looking between Will and Hannibal.

 

“I… uh, I cut my hand,” Will admitted, his voice rasping slightly. “It’s fine, though,” he added as Beverly’s brows wrinkled in concern. “Didn’t even need stitches.” Will raised his hands to display them to Beverly, smiling nervously as he did so. 

 

The kitchen quickly became animated as Guillaume entered, waving off two bickering men. Will glanced over as he heard Guillaume bark out protests. The two men continued to bicker, more so with each other than Guillaume, but it seemed as though they had involved Guillaume in their argument. Will had only spoken to the pair on occasion and could not bring their names to mind.

 

“Boys!” Beverly interjected, fixing the arguing duo with a stern look. 

 

The pair immediately froze, turning wide eyes on Beverly. Guillaume huffed and grumbled underneath his breath, abandoning the pair at the doorway. Hannibal chuckled softly and crossed the kitchen to join Guillaume, and suddenly the tension that had filled the room moments before had dissipated. A new source of tension replaced the previous as the pair of men began squabbling once again when they were met with in inquiry from Hannibal. 

 

Rolling her eyes, Beverly scoffed and turned to Will. “You’d think they’d get tired of fighting,” she commented before her usual smile reappeared. “What was that all about?” she asked, wiggling her eyebrows and casting a quick glance in Hannibal’s direction for emphasis. 

 

“Er, nothing.” Will felt warmth linger in his cheeks as Beverly fixed him with a doubtful look. He attempted to play it off with a smile, but even he could tell how awkward he was acting.

 

Thankfully, Beverly didn’t push the subject further. Instead she started babbling on about the circumstances of a date she had been on earlier that week, something involving a dog and spilt coffee. Will chuckled at her story and felt the tension in his shoulders lessen. He didn’t feel as guilty about avoiding Hannibal when he wasn’t alone in a room with him and within the space of an hour Will was even able to completely busy himself with work, all thoughts of Hannibal swept to aside. At least for the evening, that was.

 

Even though the first couple of hours of Will’s shift had gone by swimmingly, an unwanted visitor seemed to be rocking the boat. Will had stopped by the kitchen for a drink of water when a very distraught Margot stormed in, groaning loud enough to startle the man washing dishes. 

 

As unfamiliar as Will was with Margot, he felt obliged to comment on her behavior. “Everything alright?” he asked. He was not wholly intrigued but his interest was definitely piqued. 

 

“It’s just my jackass of a brother,” Margot huffed, slamming her hands down on the counter to emphasize the word ‘jackass’. “Acts like he owns the damn place every time he comes here.” 

 

Will raised his eyebrows in response, wracking his brain for a comforting reply. He could only guess Margot did not have the best relationship with her brother. He even felt as though he could recall hearing a few stories about the notorious Mason Verger, but he could not recall enough information to say anything helpful. In the next moment, another body bustled into the kitchen and saved Will from having to say anything at all. 

 

Slightly disheveled, Alana approached her wife and placed a hand on the taller woman’s shoulder. She wore an apologetic expression as she parted her lips to speak, but Margot interjected before Alana had the chance to say a single word.

 

“Mason. I know,  _ I know.  _ I just need a few moments to collect myself.” Margot remained reasonable composed, even with her knuckles turning white from her grip on the counter. Alana moved a hand to caress one of Margot’s, nodding.

 

“I understand, sweetheart. I could always have another server-”

 

“No. He’s my brother. I’ll deal with him.” 

 

With Margot’s displeased resignation in response to catering to her brother, Will’s interest in the situation lured him from the kitchen and back into the dining area. It didn’t take long for Mason to make his presence known to Will: an arrogant man seated by himself in the middle of the dining area who was in the middle of loudly telling a joke to Beverly. Judging by Beverly’s forced smile, Will could only assume the joke was in poor taste. Obnoxious laughter met Will’s ears and he decided to keep his distance.

 

Doing his best to busy himself, Will spent time clearing tables and re-setting them. Only after his third trip back into the vicinity where Mason was seated did Will fail to ignore the blonde man any longer. Mason was snapping his fingers and hollering to get his sister’s attention.

 

“Sister dearest, be a doll and fetch me some  _ actual _ wine. This,” a jerky gesture with a wine glass was made, “tastes like piss.” Amusement twinkled in Mason’s eyes as he fixed Margot with an expression daring her to retort. 

 

“My apologies. I’ll fetch you a different bottle.”  

 

“‘Atta girl. Perhaps Mr. Lecter could recommend a  _ quality _ bottle.” A smirk played at Mason’s lips as his sister retreated with the unsatisfactory bottle of wine in hand.

 

A churning sensation started up in Will’s stomach as he continued to observe Mason’s behavior. How Will had managed to avoid the man this long was beyond his understanding, but his goal for the night was to continue to remain unknown to Mason Verger. 

 

As the night continued on, a growing sense of guilt ate away at Will. Each time Margot or Beverly were belittled, berated, or otherwise forced to listen to some insufferable story, Will felt as though he should offer to help. Even so, he couldn’t bring himself close enough to the man to do anything. Everything about Mason instilled a sense of trepidation into Will’s very bones. With his tail between his legs, Will remained outside of Mason’s line of sight and busied himself with other work.

 

Only when Beverly stormed into the kitchen did Will finally decide to act.

 

“He is such a prick!” Beverly laughed in disbelief, leaning against the counter to steady herself as exhaustion bore down on her. 

 

“Let me take the next dish out,” Will offered. He felt his stomach drop, but he knew Beverly wouldn’t even think to ask him to deal with someone as confrontational as Mason. Will had to offer to help, had to ease the burden that Mason was proving himself to be. 

 

“You sure?” Beverly raised an eyebrow, but she didn’t dispute Will’s proposal. 

 

“Yes. I can tell he’s getting to you. Getting to everyone.”

 

“That’s an understatement,” Beverly laughed, tilting her head back. “But yes, please. Deal with the hellion. I could use a break,” she added, giving Will an appreciative smile.

 

Within minutes Will found himself carefully balancing a tray as he headed toward the table Mason  was seated at. He was cautious with his steps, perhaps overly so in fear of making a spectacle of himself if he were to stumble. He could only imagine the degradation that would come from Mason. Goosebumps pulled at his spine at the thought.

 

As he closed in on Mason’s table, Will worked up his most amicable expression and took a steady breath. 

 

“Good evening, sir.” Will brought himself into Mason’s field of view, holding the tray steadily and standing off to the side. “Here is your sole meunière,” Will said, carefully moving the dish from the tray and placing it in front of Mason. 

 

“That’s a big word! How many times did you rehearse  _ that _ before coming out here?”

 

Will’s expression faltered for a fraction of a second, jaw clenching as he ignored the comment. “Is there anything else I can get you?” 

 

“ _ You _ ,” Mason jabbed at the sole with a fork, “Could get a spine. Just like the rest of the deadbeats who work in this excuse of a restaurant.” Mason turned from his meal and grinned at Will, a chuckle forming somewhere in his throat.

 

Forcing his his smile to remain in place, Will nodded. “I hope you find everything to your liking, then.” He felt a slight waver in his voice and prayed it was only noticeable to himself. As Mason turned his attention back from Will to his meal, Will felt safe enough to begin his retreat to the kitchen. He only managed to make it a few steps before Mason was calling him back over.

 

“Excuse me, busboy,” Mason had fixed his gaze on Will once again.

 

Will turned toward Mason, unsettled by the intensity of the man’s scrutiny. 

 

“Yes, you. Come back here.” 

 

Will dropped his gaze slightly, focusing on the tacky print of Mason’s necktie as he made his way back toward the table. 

 

“This,” Mason emphasized the word by jabbing his fork toward the sole, “is a joke. It smells like it was left to rot in a condemned fishery.” 

 

“I apologize. I can bring the dish back and get you your server,” Will offered. He felt his facade begin to crack as Mason continued to noisily prod the fish with his fork. 

 

“My  _ server _ ? Oh, you mean my useless sister. What a laugh.” Mason twisted the fork on his plate, causing an unsavory screech to sound through the room. He chuckled to himself for a moment before speaking again. “No. No, thank you. I don’t believe a dish as horrid as this even deserves to be returned to the kitchen. Not in one piece, at least.”

 

As Will realized Mason’s intention, he was too late. He jerked forward in a delayed attempt to stop the plate from hitting the floor. As his fingers met nothing but air, he was met with the sound of shattering porcelain. The sound rang through the room and the hum of normal dinner chatter lulled to a stop.

 

“My mistake!” Mason chortled, throwing his hands up in the air. “Oh I can be such a clutz! Well, I suppose you may as well clean up the mess while you’re here. I can’t imagine you’re good for much else around here.” Cruel amusement shimmering in his pupils, Mason fixed his gaze on Will yet again.

 

Hands trembling slightly, Will set his tray on the table nearest to him. He ignored Mason’s eyes on him and stooped down to clean up the pieces of shattered dishware, setting them on the tray carefully to avoid cutting himself. 

 

“‘Atta boy!” Mason laughed, folding his arms behind his head and leaning in his chair as if he were enjoying a production in a theatre. “Now don’t miss a piece. I would hate to see some poor miss break a heel all because of some broken glass. I’m sure the women here wear shoes worth more than your house, if you even have a house.”

 

Will clenched his jaw, doing all he could to drown out Mason. He moved to pick up a particularly jagged sliver of dish when he was knocked into as Mason stretched out a leg. Exhaling sharply, Will jerked his hand back from the mess on the ground. A bead of blood welled up from the side of his finger, mirrored only by the anger that welled up in Will’s veins.

 

“See, such a clutz!” Mason leaned towards Will, eyes wild with amusement. “Now hold that pose. You know who you remind me of? Yeah, you wanna know who you look like?” Mason continued to put emphasis on each word as it left his mouth. “You look like some pathetic degenerate who can’t afford to keep himself admitted to the psych ward. That is  _ exactly _ who you look like!” A wide grin spread over Mason’s face, wider than it had been all night, and he shook his head slightly.

 

Mason’s derogation of Will’s character brought Will back to his feet, taking a quick step back from the beast of a man seated at the table before him. The entire situation had thoroughly overwhelmed Will and sent him stumbling into someone.  He tensed as a hand firmly grasped his shoulder. He was about to turn to blubber out some semblance of an apology to an upset patron when a strong voice kept him silent. 

 

“Mr. Verger, I do not appreciate the manner in which you speak to my staff.” Hannibal stood behind Will, steadying the shaken man with a strong hold on his shoulder. His gaze weighed down on Mason with all the intensity of a glacier: cold, unyielding, and unforgiving. 

 

“If it isn’t the great Chef Lecter himself!” Mason exclaimed, throwing his hands up once again. The amusement on his face failed to falter. 

 

Hannibal used his hand to guide Will backward, pulling him away from Mason and stepping between the two. Will welcomed the obstacle between himself and Mason easily, slumping his shoulders and hiding behind Hannibal’s physicality and decorum. 

 

“I am going to have to request that you leave, and that you do not return.”

 

There was no arguing with Hannibal, and even Mason seemed to realized this. His grin faltered momentarily before returning, wilder than before. He stood quickly, sending his chair crashing backward and startling a woman nearby. He sputtered for a few moments before forming a coherent sentence. “You’re requesting that I  _ leave _ ? Mr. Lecter, you aren’t one to turn away a paying customer.” 

 

“I do not care about your money. I do not wish to repeat myself.” 

 

Rage washed over Mason and he moved to step toward Hannibal when two strong hands grabbed him by his suit jacket. 

 

“ _ Non, non! _ Monsieur Lecter says to leave.” Guillaume had fixed Mason with an all but unbreakable hold and had begun to force Mason away from the table. “ _ T'es un salaud _ ,” He grumbled as he continued to escort Mason through the restaurant. 

 

Creating quite the spectacle, Mason left with threats of a lawsuit. The room was all too quiet for Will, eyes staring at him, Hannibal, and the mess on the floor. Beverly hurried up to finish cleaning up the broken dishware and food as Hannibal turned to Will, once again placing his hand on the man’s shoulder and steering him back toward the kitchen. Margot joined Beverly in cleaning the mess her brother had made, and awkward conversation picked back up amongst the guests. 

 

Will was a puppet under Hannibal’s hand, trembling weakly but unopposed to the guidance. Once in the kitchen, Will was vaguely aware of himself being turned to face Hannibal. 

 

Hannibal moved his hand from Will’s shoulder to Will’s cheek in an attempt to get the other man’s complete attention. 

 

“Are you alright, Will?” The smallest wrinkle of concern carved itself into the skin between Hannibal’s brows. He maintained unwavering eye contact with Will, even as Will’s gaze continued to be elusive. Hannibal gently tightened his grip on Will’s face. “Will?”

 

Finally coming back to his senses, Will met Hannibal’s gaze. The intensity of Hannibal’s focus caused the hair on Will’s neck to raise, goosebumps prickling up along his arms and shoulders as well. A weak nod was the best he could manage.

 

“I need you to promise me, Will. I need to know you are okay.” Hannibal moved his hand from Will’s face to Will’s neck, pulling him marginally closer. 

 

“I’m fine. I’ll  _ be _ fine, trust me. I’ve dealt with much worse,”  Will yielded, a shaky grin appearing on his face. He needed to convince Hannibal he was sound, even if he couldn’t quite convince himself of the fact at the moment.

 

Hannibal’s hold remained for a few moments longer before a resigned sigh escaped his nostrils. His hand slid from Will’s neck down to Will’s shoulder again before finally falling back to his own side. His gaze softened as he stepped back from Will, giving the him space.

 

Only now did Will notice the sting in his hand from where the broken plate cut him. He looked down at the small smear of red on his skin. “I need to go clean this off,” he murmured, briefly displaying the small wound to Hannibal. In truth, Will wasn’t worried about the cut at all, he simply needed an excuse to lock himself away in the restroom.

 

Without listening for a response, Will hurried from the kitchen and toward the restroom. He avoided any gaze he chanced meeting along the way, only standing still when he was stooped over the sink.

 

As he ran water over his hands, Will felt a growing pit inside of his stomach. The pit was similar in form to that of peach, but far heavier, and imperceptibly darker. He could feel it eating away at the fringes of his consciousness, churning as it delved its dark tendrils into his mind. 

 

Vaguely aware of the course this incident had sent him on, Will couldn’t help but wonder if Hannibal would forgive him for lying; he was painfully aware he couldn’t make any promises of his well being when he felt that familiar, insidious desolation clouding his thoughts. 

 

Will remained holed up in the restroom as long as he could, which was until his sanctuary was invaded. Will excused himself as a diner entered, well aware he couldn’t have spent the rest of the evening hiding in the restroom uninterrupted. 

 

Erecting an at-ease facade, Will went about his duties for the rest of the evening in a state close to catatonia. It was fairly evident his facade was not deceiving anyone, but no one tried to press him for an in admission of turmoil. This, and his success at avoiding Hannibal for the remainder of the evening, provided Will with a false sense of security. In the back of his mind he was aware he may have fooled Beverly and Alana into thinking he was fine, but there was no fooling Hannibal.

 

Will only hoped that when the time came, Hannibal could forgive him for his empty promise. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took me so many months to get this chapter posted! I genuinely hope I can post the next chapter in a shorter amount of time than it took me to post this one. I hope those of you who have been following this work find this chapter satisfactory. Feel free to message me if you find any errors or have any questions. - Lucif
> 
> P.S. Changed the title from "Au Restaurant" to "L'amour dans un Restaurant" because I realized "Au Restaurant" might be misinterpreted meaning "Alternate-Universe Restaurant" instead of the French "At the Restaurant".


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